


Victory Lap

by perlaret



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Episode VII: The Force Awakens (2015), Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Car Sex, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-22
Updated: 2016-05-22
Packaged: 2018-06-05 13:25:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,241
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6706126
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/perlaret/pseuds/perlaret
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Danger, high stakes, fast cars. What's not sexy about that?" NASCAR AU, technically.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Victory Lap

**Author's Note:**

  * For [reitoei](https://archiveofourown.org/users/reitoei/gifts).



> So this fic is what happens when the word count keeps mounting on your first prompt, and you realize you've yet to do more than skim the surface of the plot and character arcs you're building, but... the deadline is looming and real life responsibilities beckon. Which is to say – expect to see your other prompt filled more gradually once anonymity is lifted, but please accept this humble offering of shameless pwp in the interim. Hope you enjoy!
> 
>   
>    
> 
> 
> Thank you to the anonymous creator of the [Unofficial Ben x Poe Fanwork Exchange Fan-covers](http://archiveofourown.org/works/7020187)! I hope if you read and enjoy this, you'll check out all of the other fics produced for the [KnightPilot Fanwork Exchange](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/knightpilotexchange)! 

There is nothing quite like the thrill of a race.

Poe Dameron loves it all: the hum of his engine as he accelerates past his competitors, the asphalt stretched out before him, the adrenaline rush as he weaves and dives and everything outside his race car fades to a blur while he eeks out every last drop of horsepower he can muster. It's still a ways off, another handful of laps to go, but his last pit stop is already behind him. He's already picturing that black and white checkered finish line as he rounds the final bend, anticipating the thrill of another win. Poe bites back a smirk, hugging the inner curve of the track as he takes the lead into another lap. That's where he intends to stay.

And then there's a sudden, jarring jolt, and the world turns upside down.

 

-

 

"So. How's my baby?"

The mile-long legs sprawling out from beneath Poe's car bend, and a moment later, his top mechanic rolls out, a dark scowl writ wide across his face.

"Do you have a death wish?"

Poe shrugs expansively, leaning in against one of the garage's various tool cabinets. "Not really." The hour is late and the place is otherwise pretty empty. It's a big place, and most of the lights are off, the details of the car ports further away lost to darkness. As a driver, he's not really expected to stick around, but he'd wanted to make sure everyone else on the team got off okay and to check on a few things. Like his car. He surveys the damage.

"Could have fooled me," Ben Solo mutters venomously, bracing a hand on the ground and leveraging himself off his mechanic's creeper and onto his feet. He's got a rag that he uses to aggressively mop his hands, but is otherwise completely unaware of the long streak of oil that bisects his right cheek and the lower half of his forehead. "The exterior needs an overhaul. Half of the endorsement logos are scraped up and will have to be repainted, and there are dents everywhere. And that's just the body. Everything's out of alignment, the steering rod needs replacing, and you've got a gas leak. And that's only what I've found so _far_."

Poe rubs the back of his neck ruefully. The usually pristine orange and black car is definitely looking worse than he's ever left it. "But I won."

"You spun out, rolled your car twice, and then kept driving against the recommendations of your pit crew," Ben says. "You're an idiot."

"Well yeah," Poe says, bemused. "I ended right-side-up. What was I supposed to do? Just not finish? I can't afford that."

Ben snorts imperiously, rounding towards the front of the vehicle, where the hood is propped open. "You have more wins – more points – than anyone else competing."

"Exactly," Poe replies, nonplussed. That's precisely his point. You don't get to be, or stay, the best by resting on your laurels. He hopefully tries another tack. "Will it be in working order by the next race?"

"Expect to use your backup."

He chews his lip, then pushes off the tool rack and sidles up beside Ben to peer with him into the engine. The mechanic gives him a sidelong look along the sharp angled cut of his nose. Poe grins, and hopes it comes off as casually confident as he's aiming for. "You sure? I've seen you pull miracles out of thin air before, you know."

Ben reaches for the support rod, abruptly pulling it from its clip. The hood of the car slams down and Poe has to snatch his hands back to avoid what (at the very least) could amount to some nasty bruising.

"Backup car," Ben repeats, straightening. He shoves his hair back from his face with one hand, the heel of his palm finding the oil on his forehead and smearing it further toward his hairline. "I can't pull steering rods off of backorder at the drop of a hat. Your miracle is that it’s not completely totaled."

Poe takes a brief moment to consider the familiar lines of Ben's face, pulled taut in irritation, and then decides he might as well go the direct route. Straightaways are always fun, gunning full speed ahead.

He lifts a hand, finding Ben's shoulder and driving him around so his back is facing the car and Poe gets to personally bask in the full brunt of that stubborn scowl. He lets his most charming smile possible blossom beneath it, imbuing it with every ounce of charisma he's got. "Hey, Ben. Babe. Wanna unclench a little?"

Ben levels him a look that does not convey amusement. "Not happening."

Poe has to bite back a laugh at that, edging a little further into the other man's space. Ben has a personal space bubble the size of a national park, so it's not hard to set him off-kilter, stepping back instinctively until the back of his calves hit the grille of the front bumper. "Not exactly what I meant," Poe clarifies. He reconsiders. "Well. I could, though."

He's rejoined with an impressive eye roll. "You race car drivers are not nearly as attractive as you think you are, hotshot," Ben sniffs. His voice just about drips with derision; honestly, Poe doesn't have to pretend to be affronted. He steps in further, pushes on Ben's chest until the mechanic is forced to decide to either push back or sit down on the hood. Ben chooses the latter, but he makes sure not to look happy about it. Not that Poe particularly cares, because if there's anything that he's gotten really good at in life besides driving, it's knowing when Ben Solo is full of shit.

"Danger, high stakes, fast cars." Poe ticks each off on a finger, then leans in and boxes Ben in against the hood with an arm on either side before he can squirrel away. "What's not sexy about that?"

"You wrecked your car, Dameron," he snaps back, eyebrows drawing together darkly. His face flushes with anger beneath the grime on his cheek and it makes the dark freckles scattered over his skin stand out a little more starkly. Poe resists the familiar urge to count them.

Poe huffs instead. "It comes with the territory, remember? Besides, I'm fine. Walked away without a scratch and with a win, which is way more than I can say for the guy who hit me."

Ben only scoffs and looks away abruptly, features twisting with what looks like twelve different emotions at once and yet still inscrutable, and something falls into place for Poe. He relaxes his stance a bit and reaches up to catch the edge of the grease on Ben's cheek with his thumb, rubbing it off. A muscle jumps tellingly beneath his touch.

"Not a scratch," Poe repeats, and the slant of Ben's gaze finds him again, annoyed at being found out.

"You must be concussed if you think I care that much," Ben says gruffly. Poe just hums good-naturedly, not agreeing but not disagreeing either, and crowds in to find the hinge of Ben's jaw where it hides behind a wave of dark hair. His skin is soft under Poe's mouth. Ben prickles.

"Not even a little," Poe murmurs soothingly. He noses at the spot he'd just kissed before bending further, letting his teeth graze over Ben's throat, less soothingly. Ben hisses, his hand finding Poe's hip. His grip is firm, his thumb pressing hard into bone; Poe abruptly wants that all over. He scrambles for the tatters of his already fraying train of thought, adding convincingly, "Clean bill of health."

Ben only turns his head, and clearly he's more persuaded than he's been letting on, because the next thing Poe knows is Ben's mouth on his, open mouthed and hot. Kissing him is always fun, an exercise in things that sends Poe’s heart rate accelerating. His hand is an anchor at Poe's side that Poe can use to slide a knee forward over his car, pressing alongside his thigh. Ben kisses with a focus that is always commendable, bringing tongue and teeth to bear with an intensity that makes Poe shiver, even more so when he bites Poe's lower lip and sucks. Ben pulls back a moment later, lips parted and breathing a little funny. Poe mumbles a protest.

"You're not off the hook," Ben warns, though the way he's immediately distracted by the easy way Poe brushes back his hair and buries his fingers in it belies the heat of his words. Confidence bolstered, Poe twists his fingers in the hair at the nape of Ben's neck and pulls, exposing the long line of his throat. He's rewarded with a muted gasp.

"I bet I am," Poe counters, and follows the statement with another kiss, shooting straight for filthy this time. He likes his chances. Ben makes a noise that sounds like the precursor to a moan, his hands tangling wildly into Poe's shirt bracingly. Poe takes the opportunity to let his free hand wander, sliding his palm up Ben's thigh. He tracks his thumb over the fly of Ben's jeans and Ben tilts his hips just so, the line of his already hardening dick becoming apparent under Poe's touch. "See?"

Ben presses his lips together thinly. Poe considers it a great waste. "Oh get off," Ben mutters, though it significantly lacks the acid he was trucking with earlier.

"One at a time," Poe says loftily, dragging his knuckles back and forth in a lazy rhythm over Ben's crotch. Ben's eyelashes flutter appealingly for a long moment, but he stops Poe with a stilling hand to the wrist. He looks up, concerned.

Ben blinks and then clarifies, his tone dry: "You're the one with a thing for car sex."

"Don't give me that," Poe shoots back, easing again. "Buddy, you work with race cars too, remember?" Testing the waters, he turns his wrist and palms Ben harder through his clothes and bites at his ear. He groans in response, one hand slipping down to Poe's ass and bringing him closer so his weight falls over Ben's leg. He bites his cheek at the sudden introduction of friction and grinds down on Ben's thigh, his own erection thickening as a current speeds down the length of his spine.

Truth be told, he's still kind of riding the tail ends of the day's ongoing adrenaline rush, and everything feels more urgent than normal. There's nothing quite like looking death in the eye and coming out the victor, but it's also the kind of thing that makes Poe appreciate life anew. He uses his hold in Ben's thick, dark hair to hold him there where Poe can kiss him senseless, tongues sliding thickly together and his arm still wedged between them, stroking Ben's cock in tandem with his own restless rocking. Everything about Ben is big, he thinks fondly. Poe's stomach clenches with anticipation.

The location isn't exactly ideal by most standards, but it's hard to care about that when Poe is much more preoccupied with the feel of Ben's hand rucking his shirt out of the way to find the bare skin of his back, the drag of blunt nails skating sparks across his nerves. The only immediate concern is what he wants most, but even that's a little hard to decide at the moment, the edges of Poe's brian gone fuzzy and unhelpful. He's not sure if he wants to fuck or be fucked, but the need for _something_ is there – even if the logical side of his brain is reminding him that just because they're in a garage screwing around against a trashed NASCAR racer, it doesn't mean they've got to hit every bad gay porno cliche in the book. He doesn't exactly have lube stashed in his pocket, and while they could probably get creative, the potential options that could be available in this room veer toward frightening.

Lucky for him, Ben seems to have some ideas of his own.

"You first," he gasps, actually pulling Poe's hand away for real this time. Poe vocalizes his disappointment with a groan, but it fades quickly when Ben moves him rather than waiting for his acquiescence, manhandling Poe off of his thigh and reversing their positions. Poe gasps out a laugh as he hits the bright orange hood of his car, hands sliding for a second before he finds purchase against the metal.

Ben is already reaching for the buckle of Poe's belt, undoing it and his fly with great efficiency.

"In a hurry?" Poe manages even as Ben takes a knee, dragging down the waistband of his underclothes.

Ben curls a broad hand around the base of Poe's dick, his thumb skimming up the length. He flicks his eyes up briefly towards Poe's face and mutters, "Shut up, Poe."

Poe doesn't have to be told twice, not after Ben lowers his head and fits his soft lips around the head of his cock, tracing his tongue over the slit. With a shaky breath, Poe let his own head fall back, losing himself to the sensation. Ben takes his fucking time with it, licking up the length of him like he doesn't care that Poe is already aching for more, his fingers biting impatiently into Ben's shoulder. He mouths at the head, sucking lightly, and Poe exhales hard through his teeth.

"Ass," Poe accuses, because it doesn't take a genius to figure out that Ben's going slow just to be petty over his earlier comment. He rocks his hips up just to make a point of it, his cock sliding against the roof of Ben's mouth, and Ben makes an irritated sound. He pushes forcibly down by the joint of Poe's leg, grounding him hard back against the metal. He seems to get the message though and switches his approach, sucking Poe down with an abandon that has Poe's knees trembling in no time. Ben twists his hand, two fingers curling beneath Poe's balls. Just the suggestion of those long fingers grazing at his ass has Poe's vision spackled with sparks.

Poe swears roughly but Ben doesn't let up or pull off until he's done coming. He looks more smug than he has any right to be when he finally withdraws, wiping his mouth with the back of a hand. Poe hauls him up with a fist in the front of his button-down shirt and when they kiss he can still taste the bitterness on Ben's tongue.

He feels more mellow now, the razor edge that everything since the crash has been careening forward on finally dulling. Poe sighs comfortably, relishing the way Ben lets his long-limbed weight keep him pinned against the car. He's obviously hard now, shifting incrementally against Poe's leg as he waits, self-controlled but still radiating impatience. Poe tilts his head to see the damage, dragging the roughness of his stubbled cheek against Ben's neck with practiced insouciance.

"Still feeling tense?" he asks, idly loosening the button of Ben's jeans. It's a rhetorical question. He drags open the zipper a moment later.

"Don't ask questions you already know the answer– to," Ben retorts, breath hitching as Poe gets a hand inside his pants. His dick is thick and hot, and Poe massages the damp tip of it first, interest sparking anew at Ben's full body shudder.

"Gonna come for me?" Poe asks, just to be contrary.

Ben buries his face in Poe's hair in response and pants out, "Yeah. Fuck, yeah."

He doesn't need much motivation beyond that. Poe's a man who likes to see results. He turns to bite at the cords of Ben's necks, sucking a bruise above his collarbones as he jerks him off, slow and steady. As much as he likes fast, Poe knows speed isn't everything. Besides, there's something incredibly gratifying about watching Ben's stubbornly erected defenses crumble piece by piece as he works him over, sullenness replaced with a lush drive for intimacy that makes Poe's stomach flip every time.

Poe mumbles encouragement into the arc of Ben's throat, kissing and biting wherever he can reach. The grate of his stubble leaves Ben's pale skin marked rough and red behind the more deliberate marks he leaves. It doesn't take much longer to coax the orgasm from him, already turned on as he is, and the low moan that vibrates just above Poe's ear is accompanied by the uncontrollable jolt and grind of Ben's hips under Poe's fisted hand.

For a brief drowsy stretch after that there's nothing but the sound of breathing between them, Poe enjoying Ben's warm, slack weight pressing him down unforgivingly. He rolls his head back against the car, catching the edge of Ben's profile out of the corner of his eye.

"All good?" he says, and smiles when all he gets in response is a wordless grunt. It's a satisfactory enough answer, he thinks, worming his arm out from between them. He feels a little sticky, and while it's not gross yet, it occurs to Poe they should probably address it sooner rather than later. "Better question. Got a change of clothes in your locker?"

Ben sighs irritably. "No."

He pushes himself up a moment later and Poe takes a split second to regret the loss before following suit, dragging his clothes back into place as he grounds himself on the floor. Ben digs out a clean rag from the tool rack, tidying himself, and then tossing it Poe's way.

"Thanks," Poe says mildly, letting his eyes wander over Ben as the other man rights his own clothes. He's still riding the pleasant after-waves that leave him feeling extra affectionate, and there's compelling reason  _not_ to take the chance to admire the wide set of Ben's shoulders or the striking juxtaposition of soft lines and hard edges that make up his features, still marred by that godforsaken streak of grime.

"Hey," Poe says, catching his attention. "You got something here," he explains, finding a clean edge on the rag and attacking the oil streak with a vengeance. Ben makes a face, probably disgusted, but otherwise doesn't complain. He submits to Poe's attentions with the usual long suffering air.

"Happy?" he grumbles when Poe finally relinquishes him with a satisfied nod.

Poe winks shamelessly. "You could say that. You look good."

The offhand addition makes Ben flush predictably, and he busies himself with starting to shove his work things back into their various nooks and crannies. "Concussed," he says adamantly, not quite under his breath. Poe feels flatteringly appreciated.

"C'mon," he says, catching Ben by the elbow and hauling him away from his busywork. "It's been a long day and you can yell at your team to do all this for you tomorrow. We've got three more races until Chase and you clearly need your beauty sleep."

Ben drags his feet, the set of his jaw petulant. "Can't wait. You going to crash the backup too?"

Poe very nearly rolls his eyes. On second thought, he does, making sure Ben can see it in full. "You going to let me live it down if I do?"

"No," he says flatly.

"Well there's your answer then," Poe replies, tugging him forward. And maybe it's not so easy as that, a fact they both know very well, but the ease the concession restores between them is a victory in its own right.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! Comments are greatly appreciated.


End file.
